Against All Odds
by Sekhet Fire-Wielder
Summary: (last in series)Sauron is dead, and two power-hungry warlords are struggling to conquer his land, while awaiting Aragorn+his fighters to attack, searching for the One Ring and The Fabled Dragon of Mordor
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: This is the universal disclaimer- I don't have the time or patience to do these for every chapter. Here we go folks: I DON'T OWN ARAGORN, COMMITTEE OF ROHAN, MORDOR, THE ONE RING, OR ANYTHING YOU RECOGNIZE FROM LOTR. (Astenfire, Serena, Sagitar n' everybody else is my own creation!)  
  
Before I start, I would like to clarify some things. 1) This is the last in a series (might post it), so here's the what's what. Oh, and note this is a MAAAJOR A/U, so those who dislike it, DON'T READ THIS. (also I misjudge age effects on elves.fifteen years won't turn a young elf into an adult, I know, but work with me here!) Astenfire is a warrioress who joined Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas on their persuit of Pippin and Merry. Gimli and Legolas are dead (my idea of immortality is you live forever naturally, but can be killed by unnatural forces, such as swords n' the like), and Astenfire's partner, Nightshade, left, guided by the spirit of Osiris, a creature who can see into the future. (there is one refrence to this later in the story, just so you know) Calyces is the elf leader of the Committee of Rohan (in this fanfic, Rohan is governed by a committee, not a monarchy. If you don't like it, don't read this!!). Colette is the princess of Rohan, and controls Calyces. She too is a warrioress, and since Arwen's dead (in this fanfic) Aragorn's heart is free to love once more..you can guess the rest ( Iye is the brother of Osiris, who was killed by Nightshade in the book before this story. He had two right hand men, (one magic the other not) Sawney, (the non-magic man) and Crimson (the magic one). Their purposes were to regain the Dragon of Mordor, and the One Ring. The Dragon of Mordor is a creation like the Ring (but if came before the Ring). It gives the wearer (it's a necklace) powerful magical powers inside Mordor. It was taken by Sauron from his elf daughter, Serena, by accident when she was a baby. Sauron's brother is the King of Mirkwood, and Serena takes over it since its one-and-only heir, Legolas, is deader than stone. I think that covers all the changes.if you have any questions about something I've overlooked, review it, and I'll post something explaining it all. Now, to the story! ~Sekhet 


	2. The Beginning of the End

Mhera's large round, glassy hazel eyes traveled down the immense ebony obelisk pointing at the sky, emblazoned with elf-scripted words filled with gold casting. The tiny elf re-read the haunting poem prologuing the massive monolith, folding her soft pale hands behind her white-robed back, in the same fashion she had seen her matriarch perform. The pretty young elf's brow furrowed under a silky wave of long auburn hair. Soft brown eyes flecked with crystal caressed the words once more, a finger straying upward to tap the side of her jaw in thought. Mind decided, Mhera turned on her heel, and fled to the castle keep. The fabled castle of Mirkwood, from which the matriarch of the land ruled despite her age, was hewn from solid white marble, from its glossed battlements to the monolithic keep standing proud and erect at the center of the sweeping lawns. Mhera gave the massive golden double-doors a soft push, ignoring the lightly armed spear-bearing elves guarding the flanks. They paid no heed to the tiny elf, their almond eyes staring straight ahead, awaiting the end of their arduous shift. Mhera ascended a winding stone stairwell, up to a red-velvet carpeted landing. The elf maiden hurried along this passage, skidding to a halt betwixt two furled potted plants. Before her, a heavy oaken door, studded with semi-precious gems and colored glass, arched between two gardenias, enchanted to hold their full bloom, and sitting proudly in blue china pots. Mhera pushed open the barrier before her, emerging into a bright chamber. Made entirely of glass-covered marble, the empresses' chamber always seemed to radiate light. A large ornate fireplace, studded with the same colored glass from the door, dominated the east wall, while the north wall was open glass, celestial patters etched into it, and unfurling to a seeping marble balcony overlooking the city of Mirkwood. A circular bed, quilted with satin sheets of white, sat on a slightly raised platform of marble. Mhera smiled, watching its sole inhabitant to turn slightly to face her. The aged face of an ancient elf, pale and waxy slid into focus. The wrinkles in the elf's fair skin etched deep, like century old wood. But there was nothing primordial about the large, round, glassy sky-blue eyes dominating the soft face. The elf's waist-length silver-blonde hair, snowy- white in its primeval state, remained sleek and silky, as it once was two thousand years afore. The empress too was dressed in floor-length white silk robes. At her neck hung a jade dragon, encased in crystal, and outlined in gold- a curious pendant that was the source of much interrogation from Mhera. "Mhera, my dear, come in, come in." Mhera grinned, closing the door with a soft snap, and hurried to the aged elf's side. "Did you wake from your nap just now?" "No. I was just.reveling in my past." The Empress of Mirkwood sighed, twisting a strand of loose hair thoughtfully around a gnarled finger. Her eyes clouded over in thought, as they often did when concentrating on the infinite depths of her memory. "Grandma?" "Mm?" Mhera paused, preparing her question. "I know mum told me not to tell you, and not bother you, because she said something about being hurt about it, but, what's that big black thing doing in the center of the grounds?" Mhera watched her grandmother intently, trying to read the large, glassy eyes now glazed over in consideration. The empress took several minutes, reveling over her response, her brain up-turning memories long since banished from constant presence. "That, my dear Princess Mhera, is a long, sad story. A story, which has taken up nearly all my young adult life. Many- a friend has died in this tale, but there are parts in which I cherish dearly." "So you're going to tell me?" The empress smiled warmly. "Of course I am. Soon it will be time for me to pass the throne to your father, I doubt the Council will think it wise to have a drowsy elf in charge. And your father hasn't heard this story, y' mother neither. I would write it down, but some parts are too painful. Much too painful to see on paper." "Grandma?" "Yes, Mhera?" "Does the story have something to do with that dragon necklace?" Mhera asked, pointing. This caught the empress of-guard for a moment, and she self-consciously touched the medallion, unable to answer for a few minutes.  
  
"Y-yes. Yes, in fact, I believe it is where it all started, to my best knowledge." "And Professor Dawson, my tutor from the Shire, said that you played a big part in the War of the Rings." The empress smiled again, waving for Mhera to take a seat beside her. "Than that little hobbit is very thorough with his teachings. Did he tell you all?" "Um.not really. He just said, 'Princess Mhera, you'd best ask Empress Serena, you grandmother, for twas because of she most of this happened!' And I was coming back from his lesson in the gatehouse, and I saw the monument, and I came to read it. And I got more curious, and decided to come up here, and ask you. Was I disturbing you?" She added, remembering the 'royal manners' she was expected to uphold. Empress Serena smiled sadly, touching the medallion again. "Oh no, I was just fingering this, and remembering." She sighed, and looked upward at the brilliant fresco painted on her ceiling, depicting a massive blue-gray dragon flying amongst soft pink clouds. "Mhera, when I was naught a babe, I was taken from my home." 


	3. Unexpected Visitors

".And then, we left here, and headed west, to intercept the hobbits. And remember, my memory had been wiped, so I was a bit distrusting." Noon rose to its pinnacle, and began to descend into the west, throwing slanting rays of gold into the room as Serena finished her prologue. Mhera's young eyes were wide with interest, and the tiny elf princess was leaning slightly forward in anticipation. "And then what? So you came back with food, and then?" Serena laughed softly. "I'm getting to it, I am. Patience, patience. Now, where was I.?"  
  
  
  
Two thousand years hence.  
  
Astenfire jolted upright from her sleeping perch against her pack, just having been released from her frozen time being. Around the camp cries of surprise rent the air, and Moony, towering above them all, his blue-black hide glimmering in the waning sun's final shafts of gold, beaming down upon a figure at his footpaws. Astenfire stood to her feet, staring open-mouthed around her. Everyone had seemingly aged ten, or fifteen perhaps years, but as elves, having once met full maturity, age considerably slower than, maybe. Serena? The elf, no longer stunted in size stood at Moonbeam's feet, grinning at them all. Her long blonde hair fluttered to her waist, now ringed with a black-leather belt. She was cloaked in a flowing satin navy-blue traveling cloak- remarkably like the one she had been wearing prior to the time-jump. But her immense, telltale glassy blue eyes remained dominating her face. Astenfire shook her head sagely, trying to stifle her laugher, as Calyces had (fighting sniggers) pointed out gray hairs sprouting on the base of Aragorn's skull, well out of his eyesight. The disgruntled man, his usually sleek black hair lightened with one or two silvery gray ones, stomped the length of the camp, drawing his sword hanging from his belt, and severed a gnarled, long-dead, haggard tree a hair's-breadth from the ground. "I don't care if your hair is gray." Aragorn, without turning, growled, "Thanks, Colette. Just 'cause I'm the only mortal here, doesn't mean I always have to be the comic relief." Colette, still (apparently) openly smitten with Aragorn, came up behind him, and placed a hand, still thin and travel worn from before the time- interruption, on his shoulder in comfort. "Calyces is just trying to lighten the mood." Astenfire turned away, not wanting to overhear the rest of the patronizing speech. "Come on, come on! Aragorn's head isn't that funny! We've all got a long march tomorrow, so hit the sacks!" She barked, savoring the moment of supreme power. Aragorn scowled at her. His dark eyes fell across her green traveling cloak, to the lithe yew bow slung over her shoulder, a silken sheet of dark brown hair partially obscuring the deerskin quiver. Serena walked over to Astenfire, her eyes bright, though slightly hazy. Astenfire sighed- apparently the leap in time did nothing to improve her fatally damaged memory. "Askenfire?" Astenfire felt her stomach clench, and something snap. "Astenfire. Asten-fire. Repeat." Serena looked taken aback, gave her a sideways, curious look. "Astenfire." "Good. Now, what'd want to tell me?" "Moony has seen figures on the horizon." 


	4. Trustworthy?

Aragorn eyed the hunched figures crawling across the horizon, their haggard bodies sharply visible against the rising sun. "We can't trust anybody this close to the Mordor boarder." He said tensely to Astenfire. "We won't know until we can see them, and talk to them." Aragorn glanced at the former commander, the waxing sun reflected in her glassy eyes. "You seem trusting." "You must remember the hobbits. These could be victims, with information."  
  
Aragorn and Astenfire drew their weapons, staring with dark, pitiless eyes as the haggard people staggered into their camp. One was a short, thick man with a face like a plate of mashed potato, pale white with liquid-like pools of inky blackness acting as eyes. He was cloaked in an ankle-length brownish habit, which was travel-worn and ragged. He was completely bald, his shiny, round head was beaded with sweat from an arduous day's march. His companion was taller, lanky and wore a long silky black robe. His face, a soft pale parlor, accentuated his green eyes, glassy and smooth, like a polished emerald. Around his waist a leather belt studded with semi- precious gems held a small woven brown-cloth bag to his thin form. Upon his head, a wavy mop of sleek hazel hair hung to his shoulders. Aragorn eyed them with deep mistrust, his eyes not wavering from the intense stare he gave the black-cloaked man. "What 'd you want here?" Aragorn asked sharply, his face hard and unwelcoming. The cloaked man met his gaze, smiling kindly, holding up both thin hands in a sign of submission. "Absolutely nothing. We don't want trouble. We're just passing through." Astenfire chewed the inside of her cheek, debating whether to offer shelter. They didn't seem to be carrying arms on their person, or at least visible ones. She sighed, stepping forward, and making sure her bow was prominent on her shoulder. "Laymen?" "Of course not. We come from the Indigo Tribe." Astenfire cocked her head to one side, her eyes boring into the emerald ones meeting them. "And they are?" "The Indigo Tribe- our tribe- was once a fishing tribe. We roamed the coasts on flat-bottomed skiffs, trawling for fish and the like. Then we were attacked while we were berthing off of the coast of South Gondor. Our ship was torched, and Matthias and I were the only ones to escape." Astenfire and Aragorn's gaze fell on the bald man at his companion's feet. "I have never heard of such a tribe." Aragorn said coldly. The man's piercing stare fell on Aragorn, who met it with indifference. "I'm afraid, sir, the Indigo Tribe did exist. With turbulence in Gondor, I expect we were shot mistakenly." He sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping. "So now Matthias and I are roaming the lands as farmers, mostly. But we've become lost in this barren land." "Do you carry arms?" "No- the Indigos was a peaceable people." Matthias, the bald man, nodded sagely. Astenfire's eyes landed on him. "Why doesn't your companion add anything?" "He is dumb, miss. Dumb from birth." Astenfire stared at the other man's flat tone. She felt a wave of sympathy towards the handicapped man- who was staring around fearfully. "Well, I suppose you can stay." Aragorn and Astenfire glanced in alarm behind them as Colette pushed her way forward. "The Committee, Serena and I agree these travelers should be welcomed into our camp." Colette smiled, nudging Aragorn in the foot. Serena, who had been taking Moony for a wing-stretch descended from flight again, wheeling into the cloud line, and coming to earth with a soft bump, right behind the newcomers. Matthias and his partner whirled around, trying unsuccessfully to hide their surprise. Astenfire smiled, and walked over to pat a large protruding black talon. "Good Moony! Hey there, Serena! Did y' meet these new travelers? They're staying with us f' the night."  
  
Aragorn watched the hazy figures from the other side of his smoldering campfire. The sparse, dry brush burned fairly well, but sent up a thick, shimmering haze accompanied with the spasmodic black whirl of smoke as a twig collapsed and crackled. His intense stare caught the taller one's attention, and he gave Aragorn a meek smile. He rose, and made his way to Aragorn's side. "You've been very distant to me, friend. Do you not trust me?" Aragorn contemplated his answer. "Lone travelers should be wary out on the open plain." The man nodded thoughtfully. "Well, you've got nothing to fear from Matthias n' me. Oh, by the way, I'm Sagitar." "Aragorn." Aragorn grunted, clasping Sagitar's hand with unneeded force. Sagitar winced, shook it tenderly, and extracted his hand from the iron grip of his captor. "Matthias and I were wondering, what would a group o' good faring elves like y' selves would be doing out in these dead lands? Just a question. You need not answer if you wish." Sagitar added quickly, holding up both hands defensively as Aragorn shot him another piercing gaze. "Do you even know of the war which is about to be?" Sagitar seemed taken aback. "War? O' course I know about the war. My elvish relatives were slaughtered in the pre-war time." He added quietly, staring into the flames. Aragorn and Sagitar sat in silence for a while, reflecting and staring into the fire's infinite depths. And Aragorn began to talk.  
  
Astenfire eyed Aragorn and their visitors approaching her on the east flank of the camp. Aragorn strode ahead of Sagitar and Matthias, grabbing her forearm, and turning her away from the camp. "Sagitar and Matthias offered to join our ranks. I said that was fine, as I talked to Sagitar last night." "By the fire under an open sky? Aww, how cute." Astenfire grinned broadly, as Aragorn shot her a venomous look. "You leave me n' Colette alone." "Naw, I wasn't talking about her n' you, I was relating more over to you n' Sa-" "You've got a sick mind, and you enjoy it." Astenfire smiled innocently. "Whatever it takes to annoy you, oh mighty one." Aragorn chose to ignore the jibe. "So I was talking to Sagitar, and it turns out his relatives were massacred by orc armies. He's got a lot of revenge at take." "And your point being.?" "My point is we should let him n' Matthias join us. I've seen a lot of people, good n' bad, and Sagitar passes the inspection." Aragorn smiled thoughtfully. "He sort of reminds me of me in my youth. Fighting spirit, good-natured, and quite handsome." It took a long time for Astenfire to stop laughing. 


	5. Onward to Mordor

The dawn's gray light glimmered through the dark, marauding clouds screening the usual endless blue skies. Sagitar stood at the edge of the camp, his hair rippling in the stiff breeze coming westward. Behind him, the camp was deteriorating; rucksacks being stuffed full with the replenished food that the big dragon Moony and the elegant young elf maid brought. Sagitar's thoughts were interrupted as he felt Astenfire approach him, her back burdened with her bow and bag filled to capacity with dried fish meat and greens. "Hello, Sagitar- packed?" Sagitar smiled without turning. "Mm-mm." Astenfire re-arranged the bow position, so the flaxen string wouldn't cut into her shoulder. "You haven't got any weapons." She said, eyeing his form. Sagitar broadened his smile, patting his chest. "I have my emergency knife with me. The Indigos never saw much war, so I'm not up-to-scratch with my blade work." Astenfire suppressed a grin, remembering Aragorn's comment from the prior night. "Come on, Astenfire! Sagitar! Come on!" The two turned at Aragorn's cry, bustling over to his side. "Let's go. Mordor waits for no one!"  
  
Crimson rarely showed emotion, let alone joy. But he couldn't help letting his solid beetle-black eyes glimmer in happiness when the news reached him. Crimson, dressed in long sweeping robes of blood-red, put the tips of his very long, pale fingers together, crossing over his waist as he snuggled deeper into the make-shift stone throne in the grand hall of the newly- erected Iye Castle. The castle was based on the medieval architectures before them, except omitting the inner wall due to a shortage of red limestone. But a grander castle, including the subterranean Saurovive, never stood in Mordor. Although the iron spikes stet into the walls, each holding a thick pine-resin torch letting off a sinister feeling to the building, the castle was spacious and richly furnished with tables of mahogany studded with ruby. Crimson's Charraps (the band of higher-ranking Chareuset warriors assigned to him by his creator, Iye) and the lower-order Charmarks (outnumbering the Charraps at least five to one- all of them equal in appearance, except the higher-order Chareuset fighters hand a black diamond tattooed on their left cheek) had finalized the castle in preparation for Iye's enemies. But, thought Crimson, chuckling, this wouldn't happen, not now, not ever. He was in charge of over six-score Chareuset warriors, all left to him by Iye. Crimson smiled inwardly to himself- if the cat died ten leagues away or right on his own soil, it didn't matter. At least Crimson didn't have to do the dirty work. But how he would have loved to. Crimson's hand strayed to his forehead, where began a black stripe running down to the tip of his nose, outlined in red, and patterned with a running chain of red diamond shapes. This tattoo marked him above all of his creator's red warriors, and in the same breath, marked him below the highest order in Iye's mind- Iye himself. Crimson was separated from the other red Charraps by another thing- his skin tone. Unlike the blood-red skinned Chareuset warriors, Crimson's skin was very pale, thin, waxy, and hugging tight to a pointed bone-frame. Crimson's head was cloaked under a wavy mat of reddish hair- the only part of him that he inherited from the long-dead red-haired elf from which his body first originated. But that elf's goodness (for he died a hero against the orc troops of old) never resided in Crimson's blood. Iye only used the elf's body, thusly bequeathing his creation pale skin, and narrow, pointing ears. Crimson, also in an act of displaying rank, pierced his right ear with a large red- coral hoop-ring, studded with ebony chips ground into diamond shapes. Crimson's large, round black eyes glimmered in their sockets. He was so much unlike that non-magic fool Sawney. Crimson had never understood Iye's choice of his other right-hand creature. The man not only lacked magic, he lacked the power, the intelligence Crimson saw in himself and his maker. Sawney, a dark-haired, black-cloaked man, was often portrayed as 'handsome', with large green eyes and a charming smile. Crimson snorted. Charming smile his foot. What utter nonsense. If Iye wanted a cunning warrior, why choose some Goth pretty-boy? Crimson shook his head slowly. He had never understood Iye- sure, Sawney was smart, and witty, but was he trustworthy? Or worse yet, was he overly loyal? Crimson was never sure. The one thing Crimson remotely admired about the man was his gift of covering all his feelings- wiping them from facial expression. What went on in that little man's head, Crimson could only guess. But Sawney wasn't the problem. Oh, no. Sawney was far from the problem- Sawney would either be killed by Iye's enemies approaching from the east, or by his own hand. Crimson's eyes sparkled, and he flexed his abnormally long fingers spasmodically. The pleasure of killing Sawney would be endless. "Lord Crimson! Lord Crimson!" Crimson sat erect in the throne, narrowing his large, black eyes as a Chareuset warrior rushed in. "What, fool? I have important work to do!" Crimson snarled, his voice clear and hard as bladesteel. The warrior, leaning on the spearhaft of his blood- red spear, said wheezilly, "News from the Overlord! King Iye has fallen!" Crimson's lips curled into a smiled. "Of what rank are you?" "Charrap, sir!" Barked the red warrior, saluting his master smartly, touching the sandstone tip to his forehead in traditional Chartreuse fashion. "Than you should be demoted instantly. Your stupidity isn't tolerated in the higher rank." The Charrap opened his mouth instantly in shock, but Crimson continued. "I have been informed by Grall. As Iye's second in command, I now rule Iye Castle. As the new lord, Iye's messenger jackdaw Grall has come with news already. He was sent by me yesterday to check our lord's progress. Unfortunately, Iye is dead. And as Sawney is already on his mission, it looks like I'm in charge. And as your new ruler, I order you be added to the slave-line that should be arriving on ship tomorrow from the Far Coast." Crimson smiled darkly. "You are dismissed." 


	6. Wow, I'm Losing Track of ChaptersOkay, C...

"And how did Overlord Iye die?" Crimson pressed, eyeing the large black jackdaw beadilly. The bird nestled further into his comfortable position on the high red sandstone in the west tower. He then launched into in curious jackdaw speech, "Och, naw, Sir Crimson, Iye doied a shurt death, 'ee did, shur enough, laddie. Impaled on a sword, 'ee was." It took a moment for Crimson to mentally decode the cracked Irish- like squawk. "By whose sword?" "Mmmm.pretty lassie dressed in black, och yah, I remember, sah. Tall lassie, black cloak, long shiny sword." The big bird's eyes glittered, and a thick, python-like red purplish tongue slid along the edge of the pointed, black beak. "Shiny." It echoed, its eyes glazing, thinking of the tantalizing object. Crimson broke through his thoughts instantly with his sharp, annoyed voice. "Tell me about the girl." "The lassie?" Crimson only fixed the large jackdaw with an intense stare, black eye locking black eye. "Och, the lassie. Like I said, maid dreesed in black, green fringes." "Did she get away? Was there anyone else?" "Mmmm.yes, och yes, but they was all slain. Bodies lying everywhere." "Did she get away?" Repeated Crimson, his eyes radiating almost visible energy. "No. Iye's weird red thing killee the lassie." Crimson thought for a moment, then nodded. "The ancient bloodacid curse. Mm- so.the Talquil is gone." "Shiny." Grall's eyes were glazed again, and his whole body shivered with umspeakable pleasure. "I have no idea why Iye puts up with such a damn stupid bird. Get out of here, idiotic featherbag- A Charrap will feed you in the gatehouse. I have no need for you." Crimson stared at Grall, who didn't move, his lithe form still swaying slightly. "Go!" He snarled, his finger pointing at the bird's head. A jet of red light blasted from the tip, and Grall was sent head-over talon out of the window, where he recovered with a panicked squawk, righted himself in mid air, and winged off towards the gatehouse. But Crimson hadn't had the purpose or interest to follow the bird's decent to the gatehouse down in the grounds. Crimson had work to do.  
  
As the band of elves traveled monotonously across the barren wastelands of the Dead Marshes, trouble was brewing behind Crimson's back. Crimson knew from the start Lask Frildur was a smart and quick-witted Charrap. Crimson also knew all too well Frildur had a knack for keeping his eyes and ears sharpened to a point. It didn't surprise the Charrap when word swept down from the west tower Overlord Iye was dead. Even if Frildur was a head shorter than the average Charrap, thin, and looked more like a half-starved rat than a Charrap of former Overlord Iye's mighty Chareuset Army. But what he lacked in size, he made up for in brainpower and acute senses. Frildur had been slowly but surely pacing along the west battlements of Iye Castle, directly in the shadow of the west tower. Grall, like most jackdaws of his girth, possessed a loud, sharp tone, that could easily have been heard from the gatehouse if a beast stopped long enough, and listened hard enough. Frildur had trained himself from the beginning to tread light- footed- it never hurt a beast to hold the element of surprise at all times. So naturally, Grall's words had reached him about the king's death. Frildur had never been a big supporter of Sawney or Crimson- deciding they were both brash fools too proud of their own sharpness. But Frildur possessed and odd power that gained him the whispered nickname Mad Eyes. The Charrap had been malformed at creation, cutting him down in size, but adding frightening powers to one other sense. This was another reason Crimson became wary of his presence- once a beast looked into the infinite depths of swirling red eyes, senses were fogged, and the subconscious muted. If a beast stared into the eyes of Frildur, unblinking and holding still, they would only hear the echoing, sibilant voice of Frildur echoing in their brain. Once this strange occurrence took place, the innocent charge would be under the complete power of Frildur. But once the eye contact was broken, the spell shattered with it. Crimson was no fool, and neither was Sawney. Frildur had been instructed to wear a red veil hanging off of the fringe of his hood. The two right paws of Iye had done the impossible- join together and agree on something. Telling Frildur the veil signified rank, the other hoods of the Charraps were under-going changes- red silk veils were now being fixed on, emblazoned with a large letter 'I' in gold fabric. Frildur smiled- tugging the veil upward was no difficult task, and this was how he often gained extra food in the kitchens at mealtime. But it was piety pay. Mad Eyes Frildur was training himself to be quick on locking in on the pupils of the unsuspecting Chareuset, so that perhaps one day he would be in the power of a greater creature. But Mad Eyes found himself cursing the veil- after three or four days of Frildur's food-gathering, Chareuset warriors discovered any who tugged their veil up should immediately shield their eyes, or run away in the opposite direction. Also, Mad Eyes' power couldn't be used on other Charraps who donned the veil, as only the wearer could see out of it, and not vice-versa. But there were ways of getting around that too. Mad Eyes immediately deserted the wall-top, snarling at a passing Charmark to hurry up and sentry the west wall. Jogging at a steady lope down the sloping lawns around the main castle keep, Mad Eyes made his way over to the barracks, which were situated on the south wall along with horse stables and grain silos. Upon reaching a boarded cedar door, coated with red paint, Frildur pulled the veil up, and kicked open the door. Three Charmarks were sitting around a wooden, scrubbed table, sitting on tall cedar stools. The floor was hard-packed dirt littered with straw. To the back were the bunkers for the Charmarks, and up the ladder hatch to the second story, was a long corridor flanked with separate rooms for Charraps. The slaves and servants (namely captured hobbits from a cozy little burg far north called Shanty) lived in the basement of Castle Iye itself. As the door burst open, the three Charmarks leapt to their feet, scattering the clumsy pile of freshly shelled cashew nuts in their haste. A unified gasp echoed from the Charmark's throats as Mad Eyes leapt in, unveiled. All three knew of Frildur's hypnotic stare, and froze to their places on the floor in terror. But oddly, Mad Eyes didn't seem interested in dissolving their minds- he kept his eyes averted, and actually smiled at the trio. "Mornin' to ye all." The three exchanged wary glances. Frildur stared between them, and let his hearty smile shrivel to a satisfied smirk, inklings of ideas picking at the edges of his brain. "I have news for ye all- so listen good, an' don't worry- if I wanted you all under me spell, t'would have been completed afore. Overlord Iye is dead. Deader than yore head's are." The Charmarks never heard the final jibe. "W-What? How d' ye find out?" You mean, how can we trust you? Thought Frildur, grinning inwardly again. This would be easy. "I was patrolling the wall top, and I heard that great bird o' Crimson's tell 'im the news." Three jaws dropped open at once. Mad Eyes had no reason to lie- if he was looking for conquest, Crimson was more than a match, and Sawney was just over the horizon as well. Frildur watched them carefully, reading each mixed stare they exchanged. Frildur sighed, but smiled it the same wind. They were hesitant, he had thought so from the start, but they would soon succumb to the natural instinct their bodies carried, and then would be the time to act.  
  
*The Place of Amanda* Serena lay awake long after Calyces' reverberating snores droned into the background, and mingled with the dry cricket chorus of chirrups. Serena flipped restlessly over, staring into the sky above her. The dark, annoyed cumulonimbus clouded the sky, stretching for miles, but a small pocket hazy gray parted to reveal a window of clear, sharp navy-blue heaven, sprinkled with pinpricks of glowing pale light. Serena closed her eyes to the magnificent celestial performance winking at her from above, wondering angrily why sleep eluded her- she didn't want to be lagging behind come morning. (Aragorn's swift taboo had reached its pinnacle) Opening her vast, glassy blue eyes, Serena let her mind wander, searching for a quieting topic. She found her mind imprinting a picture of lanky Sagitar over her eyes. She found herself smiling and shivering slightly with mirth- she wasn't the only one who seemed to mind Sagitar's company. Sagitar and Astenfire had grown quite fond of each other, as far as Serena was concerned. The two had become fast friends, and often spent the day's march laughing and joking about various comical topics, like Aragorn/ Colette, Arwen's absurdity of being pretty, Aragorn/Colette, Gimli, Aragorn/Colette, and Aragorn/Colette. Serena flipped over again, chewing her bottom lip. She felt a nagging sensation in her heart, which matched the cadence in which the blackness forming on the edges of her brain beat slowly forward, threatening to engulf her. She stuck out a finger and began to draw spiraling shapes in the loose, oxidized dirt to the side of her head. Serena sighed, staring at the odd oval-like pattern she had just drawn. She placed her hand in the center of it, ground it in, and brought her hand up again. Her hand had left a curving diamond shape in the middle of her pattern. Serena finally dozed off, staring at the shape in the sand that unknowingly would bring death in shadow, or the savior of them all. 


	7. Chapter 7

Crimson drummed his long, thin fingers irately on the stone window ledge overlooking the south corner of the bailey and part of the southwest control turret. He stared down towards the wide, sweeping grounds, eyeing the dark inner ward impatiently. He breathed an annoyed sigh of relief as a figure clad in red stumbled from the barrack entrance, letting the heavy oak door slam shut in his haste. He was quickly followed by four others, their grumbling and yawns partially audible from Crimson's position in the upper keep. Crimson turned from the window, and moved gracefully across the room to sink into a red-stained leather armchair, facing the door, its back to a roaring fire. Crimson's foot tapped impatiently on the plush red Oriental rug carpeting the royal quarters. He smiled coldly, and held up four fingers, ticking one of at minute intervals. As the last finger curled to his palm, the chamber door, a heavy wrought-iron door, underwent an apprehensive rap. "In. Now." Crimson said quietly, placing his fingertips together. Four Chareuset Charraps, followed by Frildur, stumbled into the room, their eyes averted from their master. They filed in, and balled their right fist, bringing it lightly to their nose-tip, and bobbing their head in the customary Chareuset salute. Like the others, Frildur kept his veil down, but fixed Crimson with an unwavering stare. Crimson matched his gaze through the gauzy material, his voice cold, harsh. "King Iye is dead." The Charraps stood silent, they all knew this, and had stayed up late bickering and spreading rumors around the tavern tables in the barracks- which was one of the reasons the quintet was nearly four hours late. Frildur's eyes slitted, still angry with himself. He didn't want to be late for Crimson's conference, but the worried whispers raging through the barracks were too entertaining. Mad Eyes had lost track of time, and only came back to earth with an unpleasant jolt when his hypnotic stare glanced at the dark window from over a tankard of plum wine. Splashing nearly half its contents on his robes, he had left the barracks in a rush, snarling at the other Charraps as a reminder of Crimson's meeting. Frildur's flash back was interrupted by Crimson's grating voice, now very soft and slightly amused. "But you all know this. All of you." Mad Eyes carefully watched Crimson, and noticed Crimson's dark eyes flick towards him. Crimson was careful, Frildur thought to himself, cautious, and his mind is quicker than that warm, supposedly plum wine. Mad Eyes smiled darkly to himself, silently laughing at his own brilliance. Again, Crimson's harsh, cutting voice erupted from his throat. "But that is besides the point. The point is this." With a sharp motion that made half of the present lurch backwards in alarm, Crimson whipped out a folded piece of parchment from his robes. "Iye didn't want Sawney to rule. Iye wanted Sawney dead." The Charraps stared at the parchment, which was in letter format. 'Sawney shouldn't rule alongside me- he's not magical and their for untrustworthy. As soon as I reach my castle, Sawney will be disposed of once he returns from his errand.' The Charraps glanced at each other, then back at Crimson's impassive face. Outside Crimson's eyes were placid, and dull, but inside he was laughing. Laughing raucously and uncontrollably.  
  
Serena woke to an odd apparition, the shadowy outline of some smoke-colored creature, murmuring incoherent words to her, dancing before her vision. This was followed by another form, taller, but blood red. It suddenly began to charge at her, coming closer, blinding her with crimson light. "Argh!" Serena jerked upwards, feeling the cold sweat trickle down her nose. Her heart thumped painfully in her throat, her chest feeling condensed and squeezed. Standing on trembling legs, she stood, leaning unstably on Moony's giant forepaw. Aragorn hurried up to her, one cheek bulging with a crude tortilla made of dried vegetables, shriveled remnants of a horse, and cornmeal patties. "Mph- mornin' Zerena. Moror is jus' on 'ee 'orizon." He said through a mouthful of Ambrose's stomach fiber. He swallowed, and pulled a wry face, spitting out a cracked, rubbery film that once served as the membrane pocketing Ambrose the horse's spleen. "Not bad, but kind of chewy. Want some?" He asked, offering the lopsided yellowish brown mess before the elf maid. Serena held up both hands, and gave him a meek smile. " It's okay. Really." She added, as Aragorn tugged out a twisted, gnarled, string-like vein canal, that once was rich with blood and oxygen, powering Ambrose's left hind leg, and waved it tantalizingly before her. Serena tugged a dried body of a cod from her sack, averting her sight from Aragorn's gristly meal. She nibbled on the dried fleshy underbelly of the cod, maneuvering the needle-like rib-bones to the corners of her mouth with her tongue, and spitting them from the white, savory fish. Her mind fell back to the dream she had. How odd. "Serena! Let's go!" Aragorn called, surrounded by Sagitar and Astenfire. Serena thrust the flesh-less, bleached skeleton of the late fish, once a thriving colony matriarch, into the crusty red soil of the Dead Marshes, doomed to be forgotten and deteriorate in the blazing noonday sun. "There 'tis! Mordor ahoy!" Called Calyces with mock glee, waving his rapier feebly. All heads turned westward, where the top spire of Castle Iye was just visible over a dip in the land. "We're close. Really close." Sagitar whispered to Astenfire. "I'll bet there is a ton of armies swarming over there." Astenfire nodded, staring into the swirling green infinite depths that held her gaze, plunging her into warm emerald mist. She smiled, patting the supple yew over her shoulder. "I'm sure I can lower their numbers." Serena whispered her contribution, staring at the spire. From it hung no pendant, but the blood red sandstone tiles glinting in the afternoon's waning sun triggered a sudden thought from the depths of Serena's brain. "Castle Iye." She murmured. Astenfire stared. "Huh?" "Castle Iye." Repeated Serena, her eyes wide and unblinking, as if in a trance. "I had a weird dream last night- this diamond thingy flanked by a pair of big green eyes, like a cat's eyes, and some soft voice said 'on the morrow Castle Iye will you see, a blood red monolith to kill thee.'" "Pretty bad rhyme if you ask me." A dark-haired elf said quietly beside Aragorn. Aragorn elbowed him sharply, as Serena eyed him darkly. "It wasn't my rhyme. And I think I know who the cat was. Osiris!" Astenfire's labored breathing filled the silence that followed. "Osiris?" She echoed weakly, thinking of her lost friend Nightshade. "Wait," Sagitar said suddenly. "What was the last line?" "A blood red monolith to kill thee." Serena repeated. " 'To kill thee'.sounds like a warning. Castle Iye, huh? Never heard of it- must be a very recent establishment." Mused Sagitar, looking back at the spire. "Well, there's only one way to find out!" Astenfire said resolutely, pulling an arrow from her quiver to point at the spire. "Onward to hell!" 


	8. Chapter 8

Frildur Mad Eyes laughed insanely inside, crossing his arms around to the back of his head contentedly. The Charrap's dark eyes glimmered maliciously as he watched Gruven Zann whisper excitedly to the rest of his Charmark comrades; unaware his superior was lurking in the deep shadow of the first bunk row. Gruven, a tall, muscular Charmark banged the table with his large square fist, eyeing the other Charmarks around him. " Tis our chance! Mad Eyes has a point- we can take Castle Iye for ourselves! With Iye gone and Sawney locked outa the gates with naught but his stupid slave, there are no reinforcements to 'elp Crimson!" A Charmark swilled the pennycloud grog around his deep wooden tankard, his hand drawing slow circles on the side of it pensively. "You have a point, Gruven, but who's going to lead us? You?" He struggled to keep the contempt out of his voice. What Gruven lacked in the brainbox, he made up on his forearms. Gruven Zann was well known for his sporadic acts of violence, fueled by an explicitly short temper, which wasn't well harnessed. Gruven sneered. "What, you think I can't lead you buffoons up against Crimson?" His hand slid to the rapier thrust into his cloak girdle, fingering the plain crystal pommel stone almost lovingly. The Charmark shrugged, fending off the energy tensing Gruven's spring. "I didn't say you couldn't." "Well then shut yore pie-hole and listen good. I have a plan." Frildur snorted audibly, and the entire gathering of Iye's Charmarks gasped in unison, staring panic-struck at Frildur's hiding place. "I doubt a fat glob such as yourself would be capable of storming the keep." Gruven's body tensed; inwardly relived the man's veil was down. "Yea, 'n what would yore plan be?" He snarled, feeling confidence welling in his wide chest with over three-score Charmarks to his back, and a veil separating him from Frildur's hypnotic stare. Frildur's lips curled into a malicious smile as he slid from his comfortable straight-backed oak chair propped up on back legs to the barrack wall. Spreading his arms wide in a gesture of submissance, Frildur glided forward to Gruven, letting the big Charmark notice his lack in height. "For one, picking a smart, sensible leader to rally the Charmarks. Charraps are too well bonded to Crimson to do any harm. But that doesn't matter." "Oh yeah, you're a Charrap! Ye could be a spy. I could gut ye right now, and what 'd say to that?" With eye-blurring speed, Frildur plunged his hand into his pocket, lithe fingers twisting sharply on the small, smooth metal hilt of a tiny three-inch crystal dagger, warm from the heat of his body. The blade slid effortlessly between index and middle finger, whipping it from the pocket, its bark-cloth sheath removed fore hence. Without even tensing his arm, Frildur jerked his wrist abruptly, causing his blade to hurdle directly forward, revolving once around, spiraling cleanly upward, the blood channel flashing once in the dim lighting of the barrack, before becoming buried to its hilt in Gruven. The large man gurgled once, hands flying up to his severed jugular spraying blood down his robes, then dropped like a stone. Frildur smiled, stepping contemptuously on the man's torso, saying more to Gruven's carcass then the stunned assembly, "I say Lask Frildur takes no shitting around from a big-mouthed ass who can't count backwards if his life depended on it." He looked up, surveying the crowd through the blood- red mist-like material before his eyes. His hypnotic power wasn't in need tonight, the entire Charmark rank was faithfully snuggled into his hands. And Frildur layed out his plans without hesitation, standing in the pool of Gruven's collecting blood without remorse or change in expression.  
  
"Sir Crimson, there's figures on ee horizon." Grall winged in, hurriedly perching on the stone window ledge of Crimson's antechamber. Crimson smiled darkly. "Good spotting, Grall. Who's in the party?" "Ach, I didn't goo far enough to see 'em close, sir. Just some elves." "Heading.?" "To here, sir." Crimson laughed softly. "Good. This must be the little party hoping to regain the dragon necklace." Pensively, Crimson moved over to a hulking cedar bureau, tugging on an ornate brass knob opening the central cabinet. Crimson, all too aware of the jackdaw's curious gaze, drew forth a crystalline box, letting it glitter in the noonday zenith. He walked back towards the jackdaw, setting the sparkling box beside the dark talons of the bird, allowing the sun's golden rays to bounce off the box in a shower of colors. Crimson opened the box, and lifted a small object from its plush red-velvet bedding. He held it aloft, letting Grall identify them. It was a pure crimson dragon, formerly a clear green, but still solid jade. "You probably ask, why am I using it?" Grall looked up at his keeper, unsurprised at Crimson's odd talent of guessing the thoughts of others. "I don't use it, because I am not interested in resurrecting what's-his-name, because it would only bring trouble to me. I am more powerful than Sauron was ever. He was a brash fool, and deserves to have his carcass left to rot in the abandoned Pits. Once he returns with the One Ring of power, my little set would be complete. The power I can wield with those two combined would be great, but I am going to use it only when one visitor comes calling, so as he shall never come calling again." "Sir Sawney?" "There's a surprise, you dumb featherbag." Snarled Crimson irately. "Of course Sawney is to die. Iye wanted him and I to work together under him, but Iye is dead and his corpse is rotting with maggots chewing out his overly confident brain as we speak. That document I showed to the others was false. I will use these to destroy Sawney utterly, thusly displaying my power to those under me, gaining their complete loyalty through fright. After I pry the ring from his dying fingers, of course. I've seen it, and it will work. Those who aren't impressed will die." He added nonchalantly, watching the twinkling object catch the golden shafts falling on it. "Sauron was a fool to let his own creation absorb him entirely, and control him. I will use his tools once a while, so as I am in control of them. Go get my Charraps, Grall. I'm going to rally them together in preparation of Sawney's return." "But, err, if you don't mind me adding, Sir Crimson, but as I was returning from my scoutin', I saw the fore-barracks were still packed with Charmarks, and I doubt they are still loyal." Crimson's smile widened with genuine glee. "I know this already, but I am glad you told me, as I know you know, and if had you chosen to remain silent and let scheming go on behind by back, I would have killed you, then hung you out on the north spire so as the crows can pick our your eyes." Grall swallowed with difficulty. Crimson wasn't one to make over-sized statements, and fail to keep them.  
  
As Castle Iye became a hive of plotting double homicides, the elves, Matthias and Sagitar camped out it the waning light of evening in the rocky outcrops once serving as the far-east branch of the Pits. "Here's the plan. We have too little numbers to attempt storming the main gate or the walls. Siege is out of the question, as these castles are built to withstand that. The idea is to act as a guerilla union." Astenfire said, scratching out her plans on the bare, dry, reddish soil at her feet with an arrow-tip. Sagitar shook his head, tugging another green-fletched arrow from the quiver laying behind his friend. Using the tip to point to the small rectangle representing the main gate. "If this castle is like a normal one, it's bound to have a postern. It would be easiest to attack from there." Astenfire pondered this for a moment, and used her arrow to tap her drawing again. "Maybe, but mayhap not." "We can check it later. If we attack from the postern, it would get is inside the castle. Most likely near the keep. It might be guarded, but perhaps only a wall top guard on the battlements." "Mm. It could work, if there is one. We can scout it out. If it does have one, it's most likely hidden or positioned on an out-of-reach place." Sagitar smiled; glad his friend accepted the tentative idea. "Why not go now? We'll have the cover of darkness." Astenfire nodded, standing and thrusting the arrow back with its fellows. "Makes sense. It would not, however, to take everyone." Sagitar agreed, tugging on stolid-faced Aragorn's cloak sleeve. "Come on, before the rest notice. Matt- oh, there you are. Let's go." Like a wraith, Matthias appeared at Sagitar's side from the shadowy depths of his haggard habit, one corner of his mouth curled upward.  
  
The postern gate was indeed in existence, a simple wicker frame reinforced with cedar planking and an iron crossbar from inside. A small portal, no more than five feet in height, half-hidden by a jutting rocky outcrop, let off a luminous glow as the moon's slanting pale light fell upon it. Sagitar shifted his weight, resting his hands on a large dark red boulder, its surface warm and smooth. "There," He whispered in Astenfire's ear, sending a prickly sensation racing down her neck, "we can attack from here. See the wall guard? He's sleeping- leaning against the parapet. The day watch is probably even more monotonous. See the heavy robe he's donned? The night is warm and gentle, even on these flatlands. Day is roasting hot, as it was on the Dead Marshes. That's probably uniform. The day guard will be even more uncomfortable; probably will be hulking down in the parapet shadow. This is definitely the weakest place." Astenfire nodded, and found her voice with difficulty. "I still think we should have a backup. Perhaps we should split in two groups. One as a destraction, the other going in through here." Sagitar agreed willingly, Aragorn showing his consent through a mute nod. Matthias watched the redstone building like a chicken views the ax, his gaze a jumbled mass of awe and terror. Astenfire, unconsciously aware of her close-quarter position with Sagitar at her side, inhaled slowly and calmly, very aware of her gradually flushing cheeks and quickening pulse. "You okay?" Aragorn asked, eyeing her suspiciously. "You seem out of breath." "Nerves." She lied, distractedly fidgeting with her quiver, silently praising the darkness. "Let's go. We have a big day tomorrow." She added, shuffling off the edge of the outcrop, and dropping to the sandy gravel below, all to conscious of Aragorn's curious stare. 


	9. Chapter 9

The sun dawned cloudy and troubled, glowing faintly behind a thick veil of shadowy clouds. A zephyr whistled across the craggy plain, stirring motes of loose red dust and forcing the hollow, rotting wooden skeleton of Sauron's famous Pits to whine and groan under the strain. Huddling in tight- knit groups in vain effort to stay warm, three groups moved into position, awaiting tensely for the whispered command. Crimson stood, framed in a glass-devoid mullein window, the zephyr filling his robes. To his back were twelve Charraps, anxiously shifting from foot to foot, awaiting word from their leader. Crimson smiled into the cruel northern wind, hardly glancing down where the broken body of a Charrap lay.  
  
He had decided the Frildur threat wasn't entirely over, but perhaps the spiteful death would damper his troops' spirits. Certainly his had. Upon the very lifting of night's cloak, Crimson sent a messenger to rouse all troops from the barracks, and lead them to the keep courtyard. Positioned at his window, the fourteen Charraps behind him, he had viewed the huddled masses below, conversing in hushed tones. Crimson had smiled, smiled darkly and broadly. How he was going to enjoy this. "Farthest right, come here. Come to your master." He hissed suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper. All the Charraps turned as one to stare at the Charrap in question. The Chareuset standing to Frildur's right stood, as if carved of marble, rigidly in a mixture of shock and horror. "You heard me. Get over here." Crimson's calm voice spoke again. The soldier glanced desperately at his comrades, pleading silently for backup. "Get you ass over here, nimrod!" Shouted Crimson suddenly, his sharp voice echoing and rervberating against the stone chamber. His whole body trembling uncontrollably, the Charrap edged forward, wringing his hands in terror. "Y-Yes?" "Get over here to my side." Crimson's dangerously soft, calm tone poisoned the harmless statement. The Charrap stumbled forward, hardly aware of where his feet were leading to, his eyes, wide with unspeakable dread behind the gauzy veil. Crimson, not looking down at the man beside him, continued to stare out to the forlorn horizon. "See that point way out there?" The Charrap squinted, trying hard to maintain a control over his voice. "Y- Yes. Y-Yes sir." "Go get it." The Charrap stared at his master's impassive face. "W-What, sir?" "I said go get it." "Umm, o-okay." He turned to leave when an icy-cold hand, long and slender landed on his shoulder. "You aren't leaving my side." "But how am I to get it without leaving your side?" The Charrap asked, perplexed. Crimson's lips curled into a malicious smile. "Think." The Charrap stared out the gapping window. "P-Perhaps I could use a parachute to go down there, and go get it." "Good plan. Do it." The Charrap glanced around the room, relieved of the simple task. "Um, there aren't any canvas cloths here, sir. How am I-" "You don't need a parachute. I think your robes would be fine." The Charrap began to tremble uncontrollably again, his inevitable fate facing him. For the first time thus far, Crimson turned to stare at him, with haunting large black eyes, boring into his very soul. "Don't you agree?" He asked, very calmly, his pale, skeletal face impassive. The Charrap could only manage a strangled gurgle. Crimson smiled thinly. "Good. Than jump!" In one deft movement, Crimson lunged out a hand, clamping it around the Charrap's neck, and wrenching the unfortunate man to the sill. Whirling him around, the balls of the man's feet just barely scraping the sill, Crimson hissed in his face, his round black eyes glowing with maddened triumph. "Let these be the last words your damned ears shall hear: Whoever plots behind my back, knowing it, but mayhap not partaking, dies. Dies with my laughter ringing in their ears." Crimson laughed harshly in his face, shoving the white-faced man over the edge, so as Crimson's iron grip around his jugular was the only thing separating him from the oblivial void. He gurgled in panic, hands flying up to Crimson's, when he released. He hung there for a fraction of a second, before screaming a blood-curdling cry, and dropping like a lead weight, down, down, down.the crowd below was suddenly silent, as if stricken mute, thousands of eyes turning up to view the Charrap's decent. The hapless man failed his arms in a morbid parody of a flightless bird, before. He came to earth with a sickening crunch, twitched once, and lay still. Crimson grinned at the mere memory, still eyeing the corpse below. "Let this be a lesson to you all! Whoever crosses Crimson will die! Now listen, and listen well, for if this plan flaws, innocent men will find themselves at hell's gates afore the plea for their life passes their lips! Mount double wall guard, the rest of the force positioned at the main gate. Remember; kill all who attempt to breach the walls! Station the boiling oil and rubble at each tenth parapet!" Crimson paused in his speech, musing maliciously over the words. "And all of you, remember the fool Sawney will burst through using the postern gate. Kill him IMMEDIATELY. Now get going!" Crimson whirled around, and snarled, "You're all dismissed. Take your squadrons and instruct them to their designated positions. Leave none alive at all costs."  
  
Frildur led his task force to the west wall, still forcing down the surprise of the Charrap commander's wanton death. So, Crimson knew. Crimson made the hapless man an example. Too bad I don't give a damn to what happens to them. Mad Eyes thought, leaping onto the battlements. "Listen up and listen good. We can still take the castle. The plan still will be done. All of you do as you're instructed, or answer to me." Frildur paused to let his words sink through. "Once Sawney gets in, leave the others to kill him. We've lost many men to fear, but that's good. I won't have cowards and idiots carrying out my plans. Succeed in beheading Crimson, and I will reward you." Grinning inwardly at the looks of foolish glee dawned on each face, Frildur leapt off the battlement, drawing his rapier in a flash of blue steel. "Let's- what the.?!" Just as the rapier caught the poor light filtering from the heavens, a red-fletched arrow struck the point, bouncing off and landing harmlessly at Frildur's feet. The war of which the lives of thousands teetered on had begun.  
  
Before she had notched the arrow in, taken careful aim at a red-robed figure standing like a beacon fire atop a battlement, Astenfire chewed her lip, her mind riddled with worry. Not with the outcome of the inevitable war ahead, not for the safety of the young maiden Serena, who was still figuring the layout of a keen-edged dirk, and certainly not of her own well-being. Sagitar. What a damn, stupid, awful, desperately wonderful fool. Astenfire, unable to sleep camped in the shadow of Castle Iye, lay awake, staring upward at the clouding heavens. "Astenfire?" She jerked up, hands flying to the bow at her side. "Oh," Her heart deflated and exploded into shards instantaneously. "Hello, Sagitar." Her tongue stumbled around the name, all-too aware of the scarlet tinting her cheeks. Sagitar raised an eyebrow as he came to sit beside her, his round deep green eyes locking on to hers. "Can't sleep?" "No." Even before the word slipped out, she knew it sounded hasty and incomplete. "I guess I'm just nervous about storming a castle when we're hopelessly outnumbered." She elaborated, hoping she sounded genuine. "We have the dragon." Sagitar said with a thin smile. Astenfire began to chew her lip again. Her heart began to throb harder in her throat when Sagitar leaned towards her, propped on his elbows, his emerald eyes imploring. "Yeah, yeah I guess Moony is an added bonus." She shivered involuntarily, even though the night was relatively warm. She glanced down at Sagitar, whose eyes were clouded in thought. "What are you thinking?" Astenfire asked, attempting to keep conversation light. It took a few minutes for Sagitar to answer, in which he sat up, questioning the winking stars above. "I don't know." He said quietly, his glassy eyes still positioned upward. "You." Astenfire's heart stopped. "W-What?" Realizing how stupidly the word hung in the air, she added, "What were you thinking about me?" Sagitar smiled, bringing down his gaze to lock Astenfire eye-to-eye. "You. Just you, and how kind you have been to me, when all others labeled me untrustworthy. And I thank you. Matthias too." In the still night that followed, Colette grunted and flipped over in her sleep, snuggling deeper into Aragorn's chest. "I did what I thought was right. Was I?" Sagitar grinned. "Decide for yourself." Astenfire's head shot up in surprise, just as Sagitar leaned down. Astenfire's mind, memory and entire mortal being dissolved. A warm, foamy wave washed over her, soaking her heart in blissful tepidness. Sagitar slowly removed his lips from hers, grinning mischievously. "And?" "And what?" "Do you regret befriending me?" "Decide for yourself." Astenfire said, returning the grin and parry, her arms entwining themselves around Sagitar's neck. Ah, the gift of Eros. 


	10. Chapter 10

Serena shivered, her whole body quaking and twitching as in a severe coma. A whine escaped her parched lips, coupled with small cries of pain and terror. No! She screamed inside her head, watching as Astenfire was engulfed in black flames, writhing against the bonds that held her in the inferno. A cold, dark laugh echoed in the cavern's of Serena's mind, coupled with a flash of red and the foggy outline of a dragon falling, limp and senseless through a black void. Another tortured whimper tore itself from the sleeping maid's throat, a panicked cry which no one heard. Then the soft, sibilant voice whispered above the torturous screams of Serena's friend, a voice Serena had come to recognize. The voice, hissing in a foreign tongue explicit words tumbling and grating, rising to an indefening crescendo, coupled with the flash of blinding red light, the low, dark laugh of pure malice, the picture of Astenfire's shriveled corpse, and her murderer.. "NO!" Serena sat in a rush, the cold sweat beading on her forehead, drenching her hair and clothes. Her heart and mind raced as one, her jagged, uneven breathing steadying slowly. She looked around the camp, now bathed in a grayish glow of re-dawn. Aragorn and Colette, holding each other in their sleep, Sagitar and Astenfire sitting quietly on the craggy ridge, Astenfire's head on Sagitar's chest, the elves sprawled out in disorder, snoring uproariously, and Moony. "Moony!" Serena leapt up, waking half the camp with her cry. "Moony!" She repeated, dashing panic-stricken across the camp, to where her dragon lay. "Huh.Zerena.go back ter zlee- what the hell?!" Aragorn nearly threw a partially unconscious Colette off him at Calyces' sudden outburst. "Bloody.!" Aragorn ran over to Serena, his dark eyes wide with surprise and fury. Serena knelt beside her dragon, its large blue-black head resting in her lap, Moonbeam's large black eyes glazed and misted over in death. The dragon's body was bloated and dark purple ooze dripped from his partially open mouth, winding a path over a large white fang to fall and mingle with the dragon's blood, now accumulating in a small puddle in Serena's lap. "He's dead.dead." Serena began to whisper, gently rocking the dragon's head in her arms. "Poisoned." Murmured Aragorn, cocking his head at the boated hind legs. Sagitar, his hair and clothes in disarray hurried up with Astenfire at his side. "A spy from the castle most likely." Growled Astenfire, furious at her lack of attentiveness the previous night. Aragorn's jaw clenched. "You are probably right. I'm sorry, Serena, but there's naught we can do. Moony has gone to another world. Somewhere where he's happy." "How can he be happy without me?" Serena asked brokenly, looking up at Aragorn, her eyes round and bloodless, tears winding their path down her cheeks to land and mingle with the sludge and blood in her lap. "I was his best friend. I created him. Set him free." Aragorn had no answer to this. "Let's move now." Sagitar said decisively. "Better in the morning by surprise than sometime when they can spot us." Aragorn and Astenfire nodded. With her temper still ablaze, Astenfire whirled around, death dancing in her eyes as she snatched up her bow, and drew an arrow, notching it home. She sighted the shaft, closing one eye and brining her cheek to the taunt bowstring. And it happened. A figure clad in red leapt onto the battlements, his voice echoing down to them, "Once Sawney gets in, leave the others to kill him. We've lost many men to fear, but that's good. I won't have cowards and idiots carrying out my plans. Succeed in beheading Crimson, and I will reward you." Grinding her jaw in anger, Astenfire heaved on the twine, stretching the supple yew to its full extent, and then letting the shaft fly.  
  
Frildur recovered quickly. "Bloody attackers at the west wall! Get yore asses moving!" He roared to a commandment scurrying by, up the parapet steps, and returning volleys of arrows and sling stones in retaliation. Frildur's group stared at him for a second, then broke, scattering and running about, all heading towards the castle keep where fortune or horrific death awaited. Frildur whirled around, belaboring glancing blows to Charmarks dashing past him up the rampart steps, bellowing, "Get up there, fools! You there, marshal the troops, split them in two, half to main, the rest to fight here! Move!" In the utter chaos ensured by the lone arrow, his force were undetected dashing over to the keep. The idea: corner Crimson like a wine in a bottle, then finish him off. Satisfied all who would be watching were busy retaliating and sending salvos of round, hard stones and red-fletched arrows, Frildur turned, and dashed off to the keep. Crimson threw himself out of his chamber, battle light dancing in his eyes. It was working. Sprinting to his bedchamber, he wrenched a long curved scimitar off of the two pine knots holding them in place atop the headboard. In its solid gold hit were fine chips of rubies, ending on a great one the size of a gull egg as the pommel stone. Two golden tassels hung from the hilt, fixed in place by two more rubies. The glittering cold silver steel caught the hazy pale light falling through Crimson's window, catching on the smooth blood channel and emitting a silvery glow. Crimson grasped the lethal blade, striding from the stone chamber to await Sawney. Testing the sword's balance as he nonchalantly made his way down the spiraling red staircase, two or three Charmarks ran right into him, the impact nearly throwing him off his feet into a chartreuse-stained glass window. "What the.?!" Crimson leapt to his feet, kicking the foremost soldier solidly in the face, causing him to topple, with a squeak of panic, down three flights of steeply winding steps, and careening with an audible 'crunch' into three more who had just dashed in through the front cedar gates. A spiteful rage filled Crimson, suddenly realizing.snatching his scimitar from its position on the stair, he whirled it expertly through the air, the steel thrumming in a wild silver blur. The first unfortunate Charmark to rise was immediately scythed through, the keen blade severing him shoulder to waist without so much as a snag. The last remaining one squeaked in utter terror, attempting to hop backwards from his furious master, half-heartedly drawing his cutlass, just as five more smacked into him from behind. Frildur's voice echoed up from below, "What the hell's going on! Get up them stairs, pea-brain!" "Bloody bastard!" Snarled Crimson, suddenly furious with himself.he should have know the damned one wouldn't care for the innocent's death, he should have been the one to go over the sill. Crimson whirled the blade aloft, hacking through the front ranks like a hot knife through butter. Foamy blood spurted up, dotting the soft rosy walls with the poisoning liquid. Crimson lashed out with foot and scimitar, the obsession of wringing Frildur's neck overcoming reason and thought. Leaping over the pile of decapitated limbs and squelchy red robes blossoming with blood, Crimson threw himself down the staircase, his ears ringing with his victim's terror- induced screams. 


End file.
